


a whole lot of maybe's

by awkwardspaceturtle (CastelloFlare)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-18 17:43:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8170345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastelloFlare/pseuds/awkwardspaceturtle
Summary: Keith's the owner of a coffee shop. Shiro's the handsome regular who happens to have a kid.
(also: that one drabble I got too invested in that it gets its own series)originally from this drabble collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> wow, i can't believe i'm doing another multi-chaptered fic aaaa  
> here's to updating hell, but anyways i love this idea to much to put it down in a single chapter so i'm bye  
> hope you enjoy this!

So he has a kid. So _what_?

Keith really shouldn’t mind. Hell, he shouldn’t even be stressing about whether or not his customer is an overly friendly straight single dad. Keith feels like an idiot for placing his hope on _or not_.

Takashi Shirogane is just a writer who frequents Keith’s coffee shop, who may or may not steal quick glances at him when he’s not lingering too long on the counter when placing an order despite ending up with his usual brew of Malaysian coffee and cinnamon rolls anyway. Keith enjoys their occasional small talk, Shiro’s eager inquiries about coffee and tea, and the way he listens intently to his lengthy explanations.

Maybe it’s for the novel he’s writing on, maybe it’s for science. Maybe Keith, despite being over twenty, was feeling all giddy with all the attention he was getting, and was reading too much into the whole casual conversation and the adorable awkward fidgeting thing.

Maybe he shouldn’t have ruled out the indisputable truth that a man of Shiro’s looks and status would likely already have a significant other. After all, who wouldn’t want the man’s genes passed down into their clan of beautiful children?

Today, Shiro had asked Keith to look after his kid while he ran to the publishing house. He seemed like he was in such a hurry, and Keith also wasn’t the type to leave a young child alone.

Now he’s stuck trying to look for traces of Shiro and the woman who shares his bed in the face of a toddler.

“Kid,” Keith says, and the four year-old looks up from where he’s doodling on the ebony tabletop.

“Shizuo,” the kid says. When Keith’s eyebrows furrow together, he says, “My name’s Shizuo.”

“Okay, Shizuo. Where’s your mom?”

His insidious brain is thinking ahead of him; is she a high class workaholic in an expensive blazer and high heels? Is she a beautiful overseas worker who only comes home for Christmas?

Shizuo looks at him with Shiro’s eyes, his face blank. “My mom?”

“The person your dad loves,” Keith says, but his voice falters with every syllable. That look – Keith understands and he immediately feels like an ass.

There’s no mom. There hasn’t been, for a while.

Big round eyes don’t leave him, and Keith feels burned where they lie.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay,” says Shizuo, and he continues to drag his crayon across his paper. “Dad still has a person he loves.”

“… Oh,” Keith says, and he doesn’t say another word.

What else is there to say? Children don’t lie, they can only say what they’ve seen or heard, reflect raw truths back to the world.

There’s no mother, but Shiro has found another to wait for him at home.

Keith spends the rest of the afternoon fighting back tears and trying not to think about every little thing Shiro has done that colored his mundane days. He bottles all the seemingly idiotic feelings up and tries to act like the professional he’s supposed to be, but once or twice he’s asked by his customers if he’s feeling unwell, and every time he just says he might be coming down with a cold.

It’s almost two hours after when Shiro comes back running to the shop, his satchel slung over a shoulder, his white forelock matted on his forehead with sweat.

“Shizuo—”

“Dad!” The child happily squeals, and he jumps off the tall seat by the counter and runs to hug Shiro.

It’s a cheerful intimate reunion, and Keith feels more like an outsider in Shiro’s life.

Shiro looks up from where he’s hugging his son, meets Keith eyes.

“Thank you, Keith.” The way he says Keith’s name still makes him melt. His smile is apologetic and gentle and it’s just so unfair. “I’m sorry for suddenly leaving him here. His sitter called in sick just this morning. He was a good kid the whole time, wasn’t he?”

“The whole time!” Shizuo echoes, pulling back from Shiro to look back at Keith behind the counter.

“Yeah, he was,” Keith replies, his voice quiet.

“What’s wrong?” Shiro says, and he comes up to the counter to pay for his son’s milkshake. “You don’t look so good.”

Shiro reaches a hand and lightly touches Keith’s forehead. The area his palm and fingers brush begins to burn, spreads all throughout Keith’s skin like wildfire.

“Nothing, it’s just a cold,” Keith says, waving Shiro’s arm away, his eyes on the cash register as he receives the payment. They’re both silent, tension heavy in the air as Keith works the vintage contraption. Their hands on the counter are mere inches away.

“You better get him home, it’s getting late,” Keith says as he hands Shiro his change.

Before they leave, Shizuo runs up to the counter and hands Keith a folded piece of bond paper.

“Thank you for taking care of me today,” Shizuo says, grinning brightly.

Keith only opens the paper when Shiro’s not looking back at him from the shop window.

It’s an adorable and messy crayon doodle of what are unmistakably Shiro and… _himself_?

Under it, a caption in Shizuo’s wobbly handwriting.

_Dad and the person he loves_.

Maybe it’s not so stupid to feel giddy after all.


	2. Chapter 2

The door opens and sends the chimes singing their sweet melody all throughout the entire shop. It’s almost closing time, and people are slowly taking their leave, bidding the young shop owner goodbye.

Unlike the rest, Shiro’s that one hardheaded customer who leaves much later, even after the shop closes. For some reason, the owner doesn’t mind his overstaying, and for his own reasons, Shiro braves enough to indulge on this small privilege. After all, his little Shizuo also seems to want to finish his drawing.

Behind black-rimmed square glasses, Shiro glances up from what he’s working on in his laptop and rests his eyes on the silent young shop owner manning the counter.

Keith is silently wiping the countertop, a hand outstretched to reach further along the wooden surface. His eyes are downcast and concentrated on his task, his long curved eyelashes lightly skims the top of his cheeks.

It’s a very ordinary thing to do, and yet it’s a strangely spellbinding sight for Shiro.

He’s supposed to be a writer, a person equipped with a whole arsenal of highfalutin words, and yet he’s unable to find and form the perfect cluster of letters for Keith. Maybe those words haven’t been invented yet, but for now he’ll settle with captivating, mesmeric, beautiful.

He doesn’t remember falling in love with Keith. It just happened like it was the most natural thing.

He doesn’t notice that Shizuo has turned in his seat to watch the young shop owner, too.

“Does he love you back?” His child’s curious whisper pulls him back to his own body.

Shiro’s first reaction after waking up from his reverie is to blink twice. “What?”

Shizuo grins slightly, goes back to his doodle. “It’s okay, Dad. I know.”

They’re silent for a beat, his son’s words hanging in the space around them.

Then, “How long have you known?”

Shizuo finally looks up at him again, reflecting his grey eyes. He looks excited and pleased with himself, as if he’s about to tell his classmate just how he came up with the correct answer that no one else has ever guessed right.

“You look at him the way Grandpa looks at Grandma sometimes.”

Shiro feels embers falling on his skin, starting from his cheeks and travelling all the way up to his ears and down to his neck. A hand reflexively comes up to cover half of his smoldering face. He honestly doesn’t know what to say.

“Son, I—”

“It’s almost closing time, Dad,” Shizuo says. “Everyone’s gone.”

This time, Shiro does look around the shop, and his son’s right. They’re the only ones here, along with Keith who’s silently looking at a piece of paper on the counter.

Shiro swallows.

What does he have to lose? Maybe his favorite Malaysian coffee and cinnamon roll combo. Maybe his regular spot in the coffee shop. Maybe the subtle way the corners of Keith’s mouth curl upward whenever it’s Shiro facing him in front of the cash register.

Or, maybe he doesn’t have to lose any of that.

Keith suddenly looks up from whatever he’s been studiously looking at, and Shiro visibly winces – he’s just been caught _staring_.

His face feels like a million stars bursting all at once.

A few meters away, Keith’s face is reflecting the same shade of crimson.

 _Maybe_ he doesn’t have to lose anything tonight.

With one last look at Shizuo – whose eyes are big and round and knowing, who’s furtively nodding his approval and encouragement – Shiro stands up, and takes a brave step forward.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MYGAHD. can you believe this less than 1k-word update took me like 2-3 hours to write jfc  
> my brain is really barren lmao where the heck is my artillery of words and metaphors im shitting  
> anyway, thank you for clicking on this. i hope you enjoy this short update! xoxo, castello

“Hey,” Shiro says. It’s only a few steps from their table to the counter, and yet he’s a little breathless.

“Hey,” Keith echoes, the smile on his lips playful. “Finally decided to pay up and allow me to close shop on time?”

“I- uh,” Shiro stutters, hands flying to his empty pockets. He only catches on Keith’s sarcasm when the young shop owner chuckles quietly. Shiro’s heart instantly melts, the warmth of which spreads to his cheeks, seeps through his skin. It’s these precious little rarities about Keith that Shiro finds himself hanging on to.

“I’m kidding, I’m not in any hurry,” Keith says. Shiro thinks he’s a lucky man for receiving Keith’s generous smiles. “So, did Shizuo want anything?”

“Oh, no, I mean—I, uh,” Shiro says, a hand flying to rub the back of his neck. He can’t possibly be cryptic and drop the words _Yeah, in fact my kid wants me to be brave and honest_ —

“Did _you_ want anything?” Keith says a little quietly, and that’s when Shiro notices the paper he’s holding gingerly in his hands. He can’t see everything on it, but he can guess it’s his son’s drawing.

“I guess you can say that,” Shiro replies, unsure where or how to start. Facing his secret ray of sunshine (aside from Shizuo, of course), he suddenly finds himself struggling for the right words, struggling not to liquesce into a melted mess.

Opposite him behind the counter, Keith looks at him expectantly, yet truthful to his words, he isn’t in any hurry. He patiently lets Shiro sort his thoughts out in silence, lets him spend a little more time lingering in his space.

“Is that what Shizuo gave you the other day?” Shiro finally says, steering the conversation a different way in an attempt to stall for time while he grasped for better words.

In response, Keith’s face turns a shade of red, his mouth falling open to release a string of unconnected and incoherent syllables. Whatever’s happening, Shiro finds himself falling into step with Keith, and now both of them are stuttering and heavily embarrassed for no reason at all.

“I-I’m sorry, I mean, there’s something I—”

“Sorry, but could you explain this to me—”

In the next second, Keith’s is covering his face with the piece of paper that has Shizuo’s crayon doodle on it, and Shiro once again forgets how to breathe.

It’s an adorably messy drawing of him sitting in the café, with Keith standing next to him. It’s a burst of happy colors, it’s his son’s own honestly raw perception of a part of his world that he sees.

_Dad and the person he loves._

“I just,” Keith starts, his voice a little shaky as if mirroring his hands. “I just need to hear it from you. Because… because if you deny it in any way, or if you _never_ say it out loud, I’d be greatly disappointed.”

_Maybe he doesn’t have to lose anything tonight._

Shiro leans closer and plants both elbows on the counter. He cups Keith’s hands with his own, feels his clammy palms and fingers finally grasp onto a different yet familiar kind of home. Slowly, he guides Keith’s hands down, peeks from behind the paper to see Keith’s face.

His eyebrows are meeting in a crease in the middle, eyes cast down on the counter. His cheeks are burning darker than the sunset, he’s gnawing on his bottom lip the way Shiro has dreamt of doing himself a few times.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers and it feels like he just quietly told the world a secret, and the realization hits him like a warm ocean breeze – that’s it, that’s the perfect word he needs. _Keith_.

Keith looks up and meets his eyes. His voice is low and soft when he says, “So, did you come here to disappoint me?”

Shiro can’t help but to laugh – happiness just pours out of him because he’s such a sap – and he leans in closer until the distance disappears between them.


	4. Chapter 4

Keith watches as Shiro leans in closer over the counter, the space between them thinning into a thread until there’s a pleasant sensation of soft skin on his face, Shiro’s breath warm and crisp with a promise grazing his lips, a hand finally finding his, the sound of the chimes ringing in his ear—

“Oh, I’m sorry!” It’s Hunk, one of the regulars whose expertise in machines is only rivaled by his enthusiasm for Keith’s blueberry shortcakes. “I—uh, I forgot my umbrella…”

It’s an awkward few seconds as the customer shuffles into the shop, goes to where he had sat, and retrieves his umbrella hanging on a chair. Shiro has pulled a few inches away from within kissing range, much to Keith’s simultaneous relief and chagrin.

“Really sorry, man, uh, please carry on,” Hunk says as he trudges back out the door, unaware that his apologies only intensify the level of discomfort in the room. It’s only when his eyes fall on the counter as he passes them by that Keith realizes with burning embarrassment that Shiro’s hand never left his.

The chimes sing once more, and they’re left hovering over the counter, awkwardness eating away at that one shot of bravery that carried Shiro over to him in the first place.

And yet it’s finally out there, that one silent truth he’d been keeping inside him the day Shiro stumbled into his tiny coffee shop. It’s not his own truth anymore; it is now accepted by and a part of Shiro himself. This long kept secret has now blossomed into a promise, and it’s something Keith’s happy to be sharing with Shiro.

He wants to say something, anything, to culminate the moment and wrap it in a warm ball of bliss and keep it in his memories for as long as he lives, and yet he finds himself robbed of words and the capacity to breathe with Shiro staring at him so intently with loving eyes filled with yearning that draw him in deeper and deeper until he’s utterly lost in their brilliance—

They both visibly flinch as they hear a small unsuppressed yawn from behind Shiro. Keith catches small movements in the form of arm-stretching behind him, tiny fists raised in midair as Shizuo releases yet another yawn.

Keith’s first reaction is to meet Shiro’s eyes, and they both chuckle. It’s not so awkward anymore, laughing together like this, letting Shiro’s thumb trace lazy circles on his forehand like this. Keith turns his hand over to grasp Shiro’s, to give it a light squeeze.

He thinks about regretting the pain in his cheeks later from smiling too much.

He thinks maybe he won’t regret it at all.

“I guess it’s about time to close the shop.”

 

 

Outside, Shizuo wonders aloud why Dad isn’t holding Keith’s hand as they’re walking down the sidewalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess this counts as day3 in sheithweek2k16 as well with the theme _'love me'_???


End file.
